Nothing to Forgive
by Valinor Sunset
Summary: Even detectives need the comfort of friends in times of sorrow. Updated with chapter 2 and chapter two has been made longer and better. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

Holmes had told me two days ago that he would be leaving on Friday to go to Cambridge for the weekend, to visit his mother and father. I was rather surprised, for Holmes rarely went off on such excursions. But I assumed that he had some special reason for going of which I was not sure.

"What about your clients?" I had asked.

"They will just have to wait until Monday when I return," he said. And nothing more had been spoken of his plans since then, until…

Nothing particularly different had happened that day. Holmes' clients had come in as usual, while I did what I normally did every day of the week. It was Thursday night, and I had just come back from dining with an old friend of mine. It was getting near half past ten when I walked up the stairs to the flat that Holmes and I shared.

I wasn't surprised, on my entrance into the room that the light was still on in the living room. Holmes often stayed up late pondering the events of the day, or playing his violin, or smoking his pipe while reading on the couch. I took off my shoes and hung up my hat and coat. Holmes abruptly got up out of the easy chair and began pacing the room, grasping a small piece of paper tightly in his hand. He did not seem to even notice my presence in the room. When he turned toward me, there was distress upon his face, the like of which I had never seen before. I watched him as he continued walking up and down the length of the flat, his fists clenching and loosening again.

This was not something I had ever seen him do before. He had never ignored me completely without warning me that he would be doing so.

"What is the meaning of this? You rarely ignore me in this way. Have I done something to offend you?"

Holmes faced me and pressed the piece of paper that he had been holding into my hand. The address read:

"Charles Holmes

213 Princeton Avenue

Cambridge, England"

And the letter read:

Dear Sherlock,

You may not know it, but your mother has been very ill lately. She never spoke of her pain to even Mycroft or to you. Four nights ago she had a severe stroke, and last night, your mother passed away.

I am in great distress. I know that you had been planning on visiting us on Friday. I hope you will still do so, for your mother's funeral will take place on Saturday. I know that we will all need comfort in this time of woe.

You loving father,

Charles

I immediately felt deep sympathy for my friend. I knew what it was like to lose a close family member, and knew somewhat how Holmes was feeling. I looked up from the letter and saw him, now sitting on the couch resting his forehead in his hands. I placed the letter on the desk, and after doing so went over to the couch and placed a hand on his shoulder. He pushed it away.

"I must finish packing my bags," he said briskly. Snatching up the letter he went into his room and shut the door.

I wished that there was something that I could do for him, but I knew that there was nothing. I heard sounds from his room and I knew that he had not shut his door only to finish packing his bags.

Holmes left early the next morning to catch his train. I must admit I was rather lonely while he was gone, and I was very glad when he returned home four days later. He walked through the door, hung up his coat and hat, threw his bags in his bed, walked out and collapsed on the couch.

"Hello, Holmes," Said I. He sighed and sat up.

"Hello, Watson." There was silence for a few moments. "I am… sorry for the way I acted. Before I left, I mean. But I'm sure you know how I felt. I am feeling a bit better, now that she is at rest…" his voice trailed off.

"There is nothing to forgive," I said. His lips began to tremble. I sat down on the couch next to him and again, placed my hand on his shoulder. He did not push it away, but instead squeezed it tightly. "I'm glad your with me, Watson." He said with a trembling voice.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been two weeks since the death of Holmes's mother. My friend, for that amount of time, had also fallen into a 'black mood'.

What with his mother having recently passed away, no cases and no clients, nothing of interest in the papers and no cocaine as an artificial stimulant, Holmes was subject to temporary depression. It usually lifted once he received a new case to occupy his ever-active mind with. But while he is in these dark moods, it is then that I am tried to an extreme point in my long-suffering. For two weeks this is what the day went like.

Holmes sleeps in later than is usual for him.

He comes out of the bedroom in his dressing gown.

His hair is not brushed.

He sits down at the table and we eat breakfast together.

He eats half of the food on his plate, and then goes back into his bedroom.

He is there for approximately half an hour.

He walks back out again, still in his dressing gown.

His hair is brushed.

He sits in a chair in the living room and scrapes away on his violin for an hour or so. Melancholy chords, as usual.

He sets down his violin and picks up the morning paper.

He scans the columns for half of an hour or so and then gives me a lecture for the remaining part of the hour about how dull the criminal world has become and how he should have chosen a different occupation.

He then picks up his pipe and smokes and stares at the empty fireplace for an hour or so. Then he plays his violin more.

Then he paces about the room.

Then he goes into his bedroom for about an hour and comes out with his hair untidy once more.

Then he sits down to lunch and we eat together.

Then he goes into his bedroom and comes out with his hair brushed, and so it goes until it is time to supper, which goes on very much like lunch and breakfast.

After supper he smokes his pipe for about half of an hour and then goes into his bedroom and retires for the night.

And all day he will not speak to me a word in conversation. Other than his speeches that accompany the hour in which he involves himself in reading the newspaper that upsets him so, I hear nothing from him save the music from his violin and the pacing of his feet.

At the end of the second week, I began to become very worried.

It was Saturday morning, and Holmes, upon emerging from his bedroom, ignored the breakfast table and stretched out on the couch and just layed there, staring at the ceiling. I walked over to the couch, determined to get some sort of conversation going. I sat down in a chair next to the couch, and as soon as I did so, Holmes sat up and reached for his violin in an effort to ignore me. I cleared my throat and he looked at me.

"You have been acting very selfish lately, Holmes." said I. Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "I knew you would comment sometime." I got up from my chair, stood in front of the couch and looked down at him.

"Listen, Holmes. You need to stop moping about. You hardly eat or do anything all day. It's bad for your health." Holmes got up and began pacing about the room, the expression on his face changing as though he was fighting within himself.

At last, he stopped pacing and turned to me.

"I must disagree about what you said of my health. Would you rather that I went back to the syringe?"

"No."

We sat in silence for some time. I did not know what to say. I knew that my friend's mind needed to be occupied or stimulated, or such moods as he was having now would occur. I knew that I had to think of some course of action. He was hardly eating anything, and he was getting thinner every day, it seemed. His eyes had dark patched under them. I knew that he was not sleeping well at nights, too. Both factors were taking a toll on him, although he refused to admit it. So, thought of an idea.

"Well, Holmes, since you hardly eat and hardly speak to me at all and you are certainly not listening to my advice which if for your welfare, and you don't seem to appreciate my presence here I might as well not be here at all. I will spend some time alone at the hotel down the street. Feel free to send me a telegram when you are ready for my company again."

I went into my room to pack my suitcase. From the other room I could here Holmes drumming his fingers agitatedly on the table-top. I smiled. Perhaps this was going to work. After putting a few things into my bag, I went back into the living room and began to put on my shoes when Holmes spoke.

"Wait, Watson. You don't have to go." I looked up.

"Why shouldn't I?"

Holmes sighed. You are right, Watson. I have been acting quite selfish of late. And I also know that you are only concerned about what is best for me. I have been acting like a spoiled child in ignoring your friendly _and_ your professional advice. Please forgive me."

I took off my shoes and stood up from the chair where I had been sitting, and for the second time, I said "There is nothing to forgive."

I glanced at our untouched plates of breakfast food upon the table. "Right now I advice you to partake a good, full plate of food."

Holmes nodded. Then he got up and went into his bedroom. He walked out several minutes later, fully dressed, with his hair brushed.

He had just finished clearing the contents of his place when there was a knock on the door. Holmes raised his eyebrows. "I believe, Watson," said he, "that I have a case at last." He opened the door and in walked the new client. I sat down in my chair and smiled as Holmes sat back in _his_ chair after motioning to his client to take a seat. He crossed his legs and put his fingers together. His mind now focused on a new case, his eyes alight and he himself overall a new man.

I was very much glad that my friend was back in his business again.


	3. The End

I'm sorry to say that I won't be continuing this story. I feel that it is complete where it is. However, I will hopefully be publishing other stories in the future. :) Thank you for the reviews, everyone.


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